Distrustful of the Gentian —
And just to turn away,
The fluttering of her fringes
Child my perfidy —
Weary for my —————
I will singing go —
I shall not feel the sleet — then —
I shall not fear the snow.

Flees so the phantom meadow
Before the breathless Bee —
So bubble brooks in deserts
On Ears that dying lie —
Burn so the Evening Spires
To Eyes that Closing go —
Hangs so distant Heaven —
To a hand below.